


havent we been here before?

by Anonymous



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Linear Narrative, Time Loop, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What if this never ends?” They ask, and it’s too much to even consider; they can’t breathe. “What if- In a few years I die naturally, and I wake up standing in front of the Pact Fleet again?”(They don’t want to do it again, don’t want to do it again and again and again- what if they lose themselves in their power? What if they go insane, and what if they turn bad- just for the joy of seeing something different happen in the loops?)There’s a shattering noise as Kasmeer drops her glass, shards scattered across the floor. It sounds exactly like an illusion breaking.(The one where The Commander keeps looping through time.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous





	havent we been here before?

1.

The soldiers call them names under their breaths, stares at the shriveled limbs with something close to disgust. They don’t see the way The Commander smiles at them all, like everything they’ve gone through worth it for the cruel words the pact sends their way- because at least the pact is alive to say it. They don’t see the way The Commander’s eyes start to sparkle again, and the way they begin to fill out, losing the unnatural pallor that comes with having avoided death a second, third, fourth, time.

It’s their loss.

2.

They wake up at night with a scream lodged in their throat and a ringing in their ears, but they swallow the cries back and bury their face in their pillow. It smells like dried flowers, and motor oil, tree bark and dragonfire and illusions. Mordemoth’s whispers have no place here, not in the face of everything they’ve set out to protect. They aren’t alone, anymore- perhaps they were never alone, even before.

3.

The egg cracks under their fingertips, and a familiar emotion welling up in them, a connection they thought they had given up when they had looked into Trahearne’s eyes and allowed themself to be selfish. 

Aurene’s scales are warm under their fingers, and they taste love, and longing, and devotion, crystalline sparks that come to life on their tongue. _This is what reconciliation tastes like._ They think, and they could get used to this: _This is what victory tastes like,_ and it’s never tasted so sweet before.

4.

Canach stares at the two recruits with something a bit like rage. He’s no firstborn, no Marshall and no Commander- he’s no leader, and some days he doesn’t even know if he’s a good person, when his first instinct more often than not is to flee rather than protect. 

It doesn’t stop him from telling them exactly how much he would bet on The Commander- and he isn’t talking about gold, when he says that.

( _If you can come back from the dead, I want to double my wager on you._ He had said, once upon a time. It feels like an eternity past.)

5.

Trahearne sits with his head in his hands and he feels cold, iced water collecting in his chest and threatening to leak through his skin. The healers have left, and the pact has gone. It’s only him and Caladbolgh, now, alone in a room with nothing but a bed and a figure that looks two sizes too small. 

(Because The Commander had always been larger than life, a beacon in the dark. The Commander had loved and cared for them all, a steadfast affection that he couldn’t shame himself for leaning into, back when Orr had seemed an impossible dream where it laid protected under a dragon’s wings.)

Their words stays with him, and he- he remembers, somewhat. He remembers pain, and anguish, and being on the other side of a blade. He remembers too, a necromancer with a cruel laugh, and blood all over his hands. He wonders which life he died in. He wonders if it was both.

He squeezes The Commander’s limp hand, feels their pulse beat in the crook of his wrist. “When you wake up,” he starts, and stops.

6.

They circle the border of the camp, staring at sleeping faces. Eir is there, and so is Braham, and there Canach is- Scruffy leaning against a tree, Kasmeer and Marjory curled next to each other.

They count the stars in the sky and the scars on their body, recites dates and names and faces under their breath. Every once in a while they put a hand on their chest, waits for their heart to beat and feels an irrational jolt of surprise whenever it does. They’re alive, now. They don’t know how long it will last.

A rustle, then warmth. They aren’t alone after all. “No one’s dead.” Rytlock says gruffly. He wraps one paw around their arm, and his grip is surprisingly gentle- he holds them like he’s afraid they will shatter under too much force. Maybe they would, shatter that is- but he doesn’t give them a chance to find out.

7.

_I would have enjoyed the company in the desert skies,_ Vlast had once admitted to them, like it was a secret. A shameful hope he would never see come to pass. As if it was a crime to be happy, their words dripping with unspoken wishes and regret The Commander could sometimes feel dogging their own steps.

They once thought that there was nothing they could do.

“Aurene,” they begin, and they’re laughing; they’re crying in a way that isn’t meant to be sad. They’ve made a lot of mistakes but this is one time they don’t mind being proven wrong. “Meet your big brother.”

8.

The Pact soldiers fall, one after another, and they’re screaming- this cannot be happening. They stumble through the wreckage and can’t stop staring at their failures, at everything they’ve failed to protect.

They can fix this though, and already there’s a dagger in their hands, the edge cutting into the vulnerable skin of their neck. They can fix this. They can. 

(They’ll go back, they know it. They’ve done so again and again and again.)

A hand, stopping them. “You can’t save everyone Commander.” Marjory says, and she won’t let go, _why won’t she let go_. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

They do though, they have to, even if they don’t expect her to understand. They rip the hilt out of Jory’s fingers and drive the blade into their chest.

9.

They can’t stop staring at the scattered pieces that used to be Scruffy, Taimi a warm weight on their back. “I can fix this-“ They begin, but there’s a sharp pressure as five fingers dig into a point between their shoulder blades.

“No,” Taimi says fiercely through her tears. “Just because- Even if I lost Scruffy, that doesn’t mean I want to lose you too.”

_But you won’t lose me_ _,_ they think. Their fingers itch for their weapon. _That’s the point._

They stay their hand though, for now- they need both of them to carry Taimi, after all.

10.

“What if this never ends?” They ask, and it’s too much to even consider; they can’t breathe. “What if- In a few years I die naturally, and I wake up standing in front of the Pact Fleet again?”

(They don’t want to do it again, don’t want to do it again and again and again- what if they lose themselves in their power? What if they go insane, and what if they turn bad- just for the joy of seeing something different happen in the loops?)

There’s a shattering noise as Kasmeer drops her glass, shards scattered across the floor. It sounds exactly like an illusion breaking.

11.

“Meet _my_ Commander,” Joko says, and they rise from their coffin to horrified eyes, wide and wet and afraid. The Dragons Watch is there, and-

Trahearne, except he isn’t holding Caladbolgh. (Of course he isn’t, they made sure of that; the sword is probably in pieces at the base of the Pale Tree) He isn’t holding any weapon, actually, except for his old staff, but there’s a familiar sight strapped onto his back.

_Oh_ _,_ they think, _that’s mine._

(Joko drags them back kicking and screaming, Joko chains them here without their consent, but- he doesn’t get all of them, he can’t get their everything when they aren’t whole in the first place. Back then, surrounded by a victory that they knew would soon grow bitter, they had forced their shaking hands to move, to press their signature weapon into Trahearne’s hands. It’s only fair, they thought, with what they were going to ask of him, that they leave a piece of their heart behind.)

_Sorry Marshall,_ they say, and not say, because Joko has one hand caressing the bottom of their jaw and keeping it there- but there’s more than one way to speak to a necromancer. They smile apologetically, their borrowed heartbeat thudding in their chest, and hopes Trahearne can hear the words whispering through their soul. _Looks like you’ll have to kill me twice._

12.

_It’s a heavy burden you bear,_ Vlast rumbles. His eyes are terribly sad. _You musn’t forget what you had been fighting for. You mustn’t lose yourself._

They swallow, and they look behind them. To the Dragon’s Watch, in the distance, and if they aim their eyes on the horizon, they can almost pretend they can see home- when everything used to be so simple, when all they cared about was doing the right thing.

It’s harder now, but- they meet Vlast’s eyes and think of Taimi making more and more convoluted wheelchairs to aid in their recovery, of Canach’s quiet protectiveness, of the way Kasmeer held their hands in hers and asked almost shyly Can I pray for you? Of Caithe slipping them food across the table with worried eyes, and waking up to a blanket draped over them with no knowledge of how it got there.

“I know.” they admit, softly. It’s hard, saying that. Admitting that they might have a problem in the first place. But it’s a step forward, and they find it easier not to lie as they watch Marshall step forward and nervously put a hand on Vlast’s snout.

13.

_I will know what you’re hiding in that mind of yours,_ Mordremoth taunts them, and they aren’t screaming, but bitter acid bubbles up from their throat. Everything is green and dusty brown and slow rot _._ _I will look through your memories, every single one, and none of your allies will be able to save you then._

The Commander won’t let that happen. The decision is easy to make, and the Dragon too slow to realize, too busy reveling in their supposed victory. They tip their head back and they think they understand now, why their mentor did what they did.

A sharp movement to the left, and a vine cuts too close: Everything is red.

(Their life for Trahearne’s, and Eir’s, and so many others: Worth it, they think as they fall under, the dragon’s angry roaring the last thing they hear.)

14.

They wake up.

“Commander?” Someone asks, but they can’t breathe through the smell of blood and rust.

(This wasn’t supposed to happen.)

15.

_Why me?_ They think, watching their friends but not-yet-friends walk by.

_Why does it have to be me?_

16.

“He would have been so proud of you.” The Pale Tree says, as they let the shattered pieces of what used to be Caladbolgh slip through their numb fingers like tears. “You were his closest companion.”

The words are a bitter comfort, but it’s the only comfort they have.

17.

“Commander,” Eir says, laughing. She’s bigger than they remember as she sweeps them into a hug, tight enough to be crushing. Everything is red, but the red of her hair. “So good to see you again!”

Braham takes them aside, later, when all the celebrations are done. “Thank you.” He says sincerely. They can’t help but notice that he doesn’t say sorry.

18.

The temple is large, and candles lit on every surface, just as they remember. There is a distinct lack of refugees around however, and it makes something loosen in their throat.

Priest Hakim is there, and his eyes are warm. “Welcome, Outlander.” He says, but he says it like a secret, like a prayer answered. There’s laughter and smiles in the air. “Welcome to the Temple of Kormir.”

(He takes them aside later, and bows. _Every night,_ he tells them, candles flickering behind him as he clasps his hands together, _Every night, we send prayers to Kormir for your safety in battle and your safe returns. You’ve done so much for us- our blessings are the least we can give_ _._ )

They are sent home with a pack full of medical supplies and food and water, because the oasis is flourishing and they have more than enough to go around.

19.

“Do you think,” They asked, pausing from where they’ve picked up their weapon for a friendly spar. “That friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

It’s a beautiful day. Everyone is here, and safe, and happy- It’s perfect. Sometimes, they look at this and feel like they want to cry.

(The itching feeling is there still, some days- an earthquake in Caledon, a raid in a human village, an explosion over at shiverpeaks, and they feel it: the urge to go back, fix everything except better this time.)

(Rytlock had stopped them, last time. Rytlock, with Sohothin strapped to his belt- Sohothin, who they’ve never seen aflame since they’ve flinched what felt like 6 loops back.)

Trahearne looks up from where he’s reading, leaning against Vlast’s massive flank. Aurene is on his back, her elder brother snorting amusedly at her antics. Canach is gloating over the gold he’s won from a wager, Rytlock muttering something that sounds a lot like dumb luck. Kas and Jory sit together, whispering secrets under their breaths. Braham and Rox seem to be arm wrestling, with one side clearly having the upper hand. Logan is cheering Rox on, alongside Caithe: Meanwhile, Eir and Zojja cheer for the opposing side.

“Well,” Trahearne pauses to think it over. He doesn’t take very long, and he’s smiling when he looks at them again. “I don’t see why not.”

20.

“Nice to meet you, Friend.” He tells them, holding his hand out to shake. His smile is familiar, and warm. 

  
_I know you,_ they think, and they wonder: _I’ve met you before._

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by commanders-sole-braincell's au over on tumblr.


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